The Game
by jjhatter
Summary: The evil Dr. Doofenschmirtz explains - or tries to explain - his affiliation with his arch-nemesis, the fantastic Agent P. WARNING: SPOILERS FOR CERTAIN EPISODES. You have been warned. R&R!


Hello, readers! This is somewhat different from my other works...I'll leave the observations of that to you. Now...

Rating: K

Disclaimer: Dr. Doofenschmirtz, Perry the Platypus, Peter the Panda, and all other characters and elements related to _Phineas & Ferb_ belong to Disney, Dan Povenmire, and anyone else I failed to mention. Other characters belong to DC and Marvel comics. (I'll leave the finding of these characters to you.) Quote at the beginning of story is taken from the episode _The Man Who Killed Batman_ from _Batman: The Animated Series._ Like everything else here, I have no ownership of the quote, the episode, or the series in any way. If you should find any flaw in this disclaimer, please, alert me so I may fix the problem or otherwise take action!

Summary: The evil Dr. Doofenschmirtz explains (or certainly tries to explain) his relationship with his arch-nemesis, the fantastic Agent P. Be prepared for rambling randomness and strange observations as befitting a mad scientist. Beware of spoilers for certain episodes!

**The Game**

"There's a certain rhythm to these things: I cause trouble, he shows up, we have some laughs, and the game starts all over again!"

Yes, that is a quote from the Joker.

Hey, I might not be the most diabolical villain in the world, but that doesn't mean that I don't have friends in low places!

Anyways, we two fellow maniacs might not agree on a lot of things (for obvious reasons), but no one can argue that we don't share similar philosophies regarding our nemeses...or is it "nemesises?" Or "nemesisells?" Or "nemesi?" Aw, heck with it...

It's all a game, you see. A very special game, with very special, set rules: I plan something, and set up a trap. He barges in, I taunt him before ensnaring him in said trap, and then describe my sinister plot, usually accompanied by a small portion of my origins that has caused me to design my devilish device or devices. It's a very long and confusing backstory; I won't bore you with the details of how my parents never made it to my own birth and how my father used me to replace an old garden gnome...anywho, while I rant, he makes his escape under my very nose. I don't really find this embarrassing, by the way, seeing as I can barely see past my nose in the first place...

Ahem! Moving on: a nerve-wracking battle between good and relatively-evil ensues, usually prior to or following his destruction of my newest invention. With my latest attempt to conquer the entire Tri-State Area foiled, he makes his escape (or else I make mine), often leaving me in some sort of humiliating position, and I bid him my own special farewell with my signature shout; "Curse you, Perry the Platypus!"

Rinse, lather, and repeat the next day. Or the next week. Or the next month. It really depends on when the muse strikes me, you know.

And that's it.

It's become a routine, a schedule, a carefully prepared set of procedures, and I don't think I'd like the game to follow any different set of rules.

Of course, it hasn't always been that way. I tried mixing up the recipe once, so to speak...that didn't turn out at all like I planned.

Heavens, those handcuffs were cold...

I also remember trying to end the game early on: I hung a piano – complete with a player – over the entrance to my laboratory, and when he walked in...SPLAT! CRASH! Please pardon me...I need to laugh maniacally, now..._AHH HA HA HA HA HA!_

But he didn't walk through the door, of course. I _told_ that blasted maid to lock the window...!

Another factor in our little game is my menagerie of malevolent machines. Needless to say, they've never exactly...worked. At one point, I seem to recall thinking that the _names_ I gave my inventions may have had something to do with this. You see, nearly all of my creations have ended in the suffix "-enator;" the Deflate-enator, the Ugly-enator, the Hot Dog-Vendor-Revenge-enator, the Monster-Truck-Away-enator, the Age-Accelerator-enator-enator, (etc., etc., -enator), they all ended with the same last six letters! Being a scientist, I naturally devised the theory that the usage of the same suffix in the names of my inventions might have contributed to their failure. I tested this several times, but it availed me naught. It didn't matter whether the machine was named the Video-Beam-Hijack-Non-enator (because "non-" would mean it would not be an "-enator," obviously), Shrinkspheria, or even something as boring as Norm the Mechanical Man, my designs would always fail...not surprising, in retrospect.

After constant problems like these, I think I pretty much decided that the game's official rules were the best guidelines to follow.

My nemesis and I have a complex relationship in this evil game...well, not complex, really...just difficult to describe. We're not really enemies, in truth, but we are most CERTAINLY _NOT_ friends! _**BLECH!**_

It's not entirely hatred, either...and anyone who even dares to think it is love REALLY needs to have a talk with a shrink. Heck, I don't even think it's even one of those clichéd love/hate type thingies I always see the heroes and villains having on television!

I think the best way to describe...well...us, is a sort of "love-to-hate" relationship. Actually, I think that fits the bill perfectly; I love to invent and entrap, and he, very frankly, loves to beat the sweet bejubees out of me on a daily basis.

And they call _me_ a sadist! (To say nothing of the fact that I don't think "bejubees" is even a real word...)

Still, I don't really mind, I guess. He's my nemesis, and our routine works. Without a hero to duel wits with (or, in some cases, the lack thereof...of wits, I mean), the villain is a nothing. If I didn't have my little secret animal agent, I'd still be a nameless flunky from Evil 101, selling bratwurst...not a profitable business, by the way. Well, in terms of being a flunky, I suppose, technically, I still am. But at least I'm a successful flunky! I mean, how many evil-flunky-geniuses have their own bold and daring nemesis?

Regarding that question, I don't know the answer, so, if anyone could tell me, I'll try to be grateful. Note the word "try;" niceness is tough for evil people. We are a very special breed.

Hmm...secret animal agent...that brings up another topic of discussion: the hat. What's with the hat? What kind of hat is it, anyway? It isn't exactly a fedora, and isn't exactly a cowboy hat, and it isn't exactly a high hat, yet, without that odd, funny little brown topper, I wouldn't even recognize my own opponent! This is a source of constant embarrassment to me: we've been at this for almost five years, after all! You'd think I would know him from your garden-variety, teal-colored, blank-eyed, chattering pet platypus! Alas...

I like that word..."alas." It's so...old-fashionedy. (Again, I don't know if that's a word..."old-fashionedy," that is.)

I remember the first time I caught a glimpse of my cunning adversary, hiding behind a trash can, those beady black eyes staring at me...at the time, I had just gotten my picture taken for my Mad Doctor-ship file in the O.W.C.A. I'd gotten my doctorate in devious deeds the day before...okay, so maybe I'm not a _REAL _doctor, but Dr. Heinz Doofenschmirtz has always sounded way better than _Mr._ Heinz Doofenschmirtz, wouldn't you agree? Of course you would. Besides, it was at a garage-sale, and dead cheap, too! How often do you find a doctorate in Mad Science at a garage sale, I ask you? All it took was some White-Out to blank out the original owner's name, and I put mine in when it dried and placed the paper in a frame.

By the by, if you think my name is funny, you should have seen what this guy called himself! I mean, seriously, what self-respecting evil scientist names himself after an octopus? Oh, well.

As I was saying, though I can't remember how long ago...about my nemesis and I...I've tried using our "frienemy" (or whatever my daughter, Vanessa, calls it) relationship with him to my own twisted ends; I once pretended to take on a new nemesis, one Peter the Panda. (I didn't like him...he was mean.) The plan was to make Perry the Platypus jealous and depressed.

Well, that part of my criminal scheme worked like a charm, but the remainder of the plan failed miserably. As usual.

I have never tried getting a new foe since...tormenting that despicable animal is just far too much fun, and I think he takes pleasure from his constant victories. In fact, I don't even know if I really want to kill him...now, don't get me wrong! Every time I don't see him, I beg the Devil that something dreadful is happening to him. But, at the end of the day, the game just wouldn't seem the same without him, and I've always had the feeling he shares that sentiment completely. After all, as I think I said before, without a nemesis, the hero is nothing, and visa-versa. I provide opposition to him, and he provides me with a challenge. A more perfect setting for animosity could not be asked for. End of story, goodbye, the end.

Well, Mr. Reporter-man, I think I've rambled on long enough for your interview. Are we through. Good. I hate interviews as much as I hate musical instruments that start with the letter B. Oh, I'm sorry...did I forget to mention that I brought my new Reporter-Disintegrator-enator Gun with me?

Eh, don't worry yourself! I assure you, being turned into dust particles doesn't hurt a bit...except for the sudden jolt just before you shrivel up and vaporize. Besides, he'll probably be here any minute now to save you...he tends to do that sort of thing. You know, just another part of the game...?

_**CRASH!**_

Whoops! Can't talk now! Here we go again!

_"Ah, Perry the Platypus..."_


End file.
